


Let Him Remember this Girl

by Moonknife



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/M, Past Abuse, Requited Love, Trick is not down with this, What happens at the Dal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonknife/pseuds/Moonknife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Kenzi Scale." Kenzi knows that nothing will ever happen between her and Dyson. But then something does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Him Remember this Girl

She hasn’t told Bo her real name. She hasn’t told anyone. She likes Kenzi better anyway – no baggage, no connection to her father, no memories of his voice bending the syllables while she tries to make herself so, so small.

_Look, Katyusha. See what you’ve done._

_No, Papa. It wasn’t me._

Stealing, living in the maze of shadows just past the streets that ordinary people walk down, that was the life she chose. At least it was living. She didn’t need anyone, until Bo. Now, because she’d finally learned to trust someone, she had a place to live, an actual bed to sleep on, and an endless supply of free drinks in a bar populated by monsters and myths who looked like people (except for the ones that didn’t). And sometimes they said bad things about her and humans in general, but she didn’t mind. She’d heard worse.

Поплыли туманы над рекой, Выходила на берег Катюша. (Mist creeping on the river, Katyusha set out on the banks)

_Katyusha, where are you hiding?_

_No, Papa. I’m not here._

And now it’s a Thursday night in fabulous Toronto and she’s drinking alone at the Dal Riata, watching Trick polish glasses and trade stories with something that looks like a tired middle aged woman with red hair, but is actually a rusalka who occasionally eats unbaptized children. Actually, she doesn’t know if that last part is something Hale mentioned or if it’s from the story about the rusalka that her grandmother used to tell. Fun story, бабушка. Good times.

“Hey, Kenz.”

It’s Dyson. God, his voice is like aged whiskey and even though she’s a vodka girl, exceptions can always be made. She can actually _feel_ him standing at her elbow; his body heat makes the temperature of the whole bar rise a good ten degrees. She resists the urge to fan herself.

“Hey, D.” She turns on the bar stool and smiles at him. For a weirdly long moment, she considers throwing her arms around his neck. “No humans to save tonight?”

“Not tonight.” He nods at Trick, who moves to get a pint glass from under the bar. “I thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.”

Last week she’d been kidnapped by a kitsune, which Tamsin had called a fox fae and which Kenzi called “a bitch that had it coming.” Bo and Dyson had come to her rescue, just as she had told the kitsune they would, but it still stung that it had taken them so long to figure out that it wasn’t her. Especially since that kitsune had been a total weirdo who never ate.

“Peachy,” she mutters. She gives him a long look and sips her vodka soda thoughtfully. He looks…off. Stiff. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It reminds her of the way he looked before they’d gone to the Norn. Like an actor in a play about happy people. “You okay?”

Dyson smiles, a real one this time, and her stomach feels like it’s full of pop rocks. “I’m not the one who was kidnapped and held prisoner for three days.”

“Oh, please.” Kenzi waves her hand airily. “That was nothing. Total picnic. You know, without the nosh.”

He gives her a skeptical look, but the terrible thing is that she’s not kidding. That was nothing.

Выходила, песню заводила, Про того, которого любила. (She was walking, singing a song, about her true love)

_I can hear you, Katyusha._

_No, Papa. I’m not breathing._

She doesn’t want to talk about herself, not tonight (not ever). Anyway, there’s still something off about Dyson, who is now staring blankly into the amber depths of the glass of ale Trick has slid in front of him. “Something’s bothering you, Dances with Wolves. Just spit it out.”

“I killed you.”

He says it so softly, his lovely voice gone thin like a frayed bowstring. She closes her eyes and pushes with all her might against the door in her mind that keeps the memories back.

_I’m going to kill you, Katyusha._

_No, Papa. I’m already dead._

She doesn’t mean to touch him but then her hand is on his forearm, on his golden skin. Her fingers tingle and she thinks of Bo. Bo and Dyson belong together. Give it up, дурак, she tells herself. In a world of dazzling creatures like Ciara, Bo, and Tamsin, she has all the allure of a potted plant.  Dyson could never feel what she ( _no, no, no_ ) totally doesn’t feel for him.

“It wasn’t me,” she soothes. “And you knew that. I mean, Bo told me about her pointy little teeth. There’s dental issues and then there’s dental issues, right?”

Dyson rests his hand over hers. She’s so small compared to him that her slender fingers disappear under his palm. Bo has had those hands all over her. What she wouldn’t give to feel that. For a guilty moment she thinks of Nate and his careful lovemaking. He had treated her so gently, so sweetly. And in the end, it had been easy to let him go.

Пусть он вспомнит девушку простую, Пусть услышит, как она поет (Let him remember an ordinary girl, and hear how she sings)

“I did know,” he whispers. “But I was full of doubt. Tamsin made me…I wasn’t sure. And when I thought you were dead, I couldn’t…I didn’t…”

Her heart is hammering in her chest. Couldn’t what? Live without me? Didn’t what? Want to believe I was gone?

“She looked like you,” he continues. “She smelled like you. It was like a nightmare and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wake up.”

She knows what that feels like.

_Katyusha…_

_No…_

She leans over and kisses his shoulder. It’s nothing, nothing, just her lips on the soft cotton of his worn black shirt. He goes so still; she wonders if she’s shocked him. But haven’t they been touching each other for months, ever since the Garuda? This is no different. This is the same.

She’s surprised by the steel in her own voice when she says, “I know you would never hurt me. I trust you completely, Dyson. And if there’s anything to forgive you for, consider yourself forgiven.”

Their eyes meet and it’s different. He’s never looked at her this way before. It’s tender and concerned but also hungry and…yes, she can see the wolf in him. The wolf is looking at her too. Gripped with a sizzling wave of panic, Kenzi slides off of her stool and nearly runs toward the dark hallway at the other end of the common room where the bathrooms are. Slipping through a half open doorway she finds herself in Trick’s study, her back pressed against the wall.

идиот девушка. Stupid girl. Just like Papa always said. Still, she can get out of this with a sliver of dignity intact. Maybe she can even go back to the bar like nothing happened, like she didn’t just have a bolt of desire rip through her like a javelin – something Dyson would have been able to smell. Oh _god_.

“Kenzi, what is it?” He’s standing in the doorway. He looks like a god. And really, compared to a useless human pickpocket русский like her, he might as well _be_ a god.

“Please go away, Dyson.” She’s embarrassed to hear the desperation in her voice, but couldn’t he just give her five minutes to get it together? “I’ll be okay, it’s just…” I want you, it’s pathetic but I do. “I, uh, have a headache. And I, see, well, I’m emotionally fragile from being in a cave with that cray-cray fox brain for days. So, you know.” She refuses to look at him. If it’s possible to die of embarrassment, he may kill the real Kenzi yet.

He doesn’t say anything. A long, long minute passes and she can tell he’s still there. Why won’t he just go?

A floorboard creaks and then he’s in front of her, taking up her entire field of vision.

She draws a shuddering breath. “I’m so stupid…”

Dyson cuts her off with a kiss. At first, it’s a little like the first time Nate kissed her. She feels the soft pressure of his lips and the radiating heat of his nearness. He smells like leather and leaves.

Then it’s not like the first time Nate kissed her at all. Dyson’s mouth slants over hers and her mind goes blank and her knees go weak and her hands grasp his shoulders. She stands on her tiptoes to get closer and presses her body against his. The embers of desire ignite and a fierce ache begins to burn inside of her, flickering in a rhythm that she feels _everywhere_.

He kisses her and kisses her. His hands are everywhere – her hair, her face (gentle), her arms, her her hips (not so gentle). He bends his knees, wraps his arms around her waist, and when he straightens her feet leave the ground altogether. He leans her against the wall of the study and one hand slips under her shirt. She can barely breathe but she doesn’t care. When her mouth opens under his and his tongue touches hers she thinks she might pass out.

Ой ты, песня, песенка девичья (Oh you song! Little song of a maiden)

 _I don’t care, I don’t care_ , her mind chants over and over. Let him think she’s a stupid human for wanting him, let him use her and forget about her. His rough fingertips brush her nipple. Yes, it’s worth it. She slides her fingers into his fair hair and he growls at her – a real growl that should scare her but instead makes her squirm impatiently against him. That only makes him gasp and pull back.

Their eyes meet again, glazed with desire and _to hell with it_ but she can see that he’s pulling himself together. _Damn_. He relaxes his grip and lets her down, their bodies sliding together. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he catches her in a fierce embrace.

To her horror, she feels the sting of tears. When was the last time she really let herself cry?

_Katyusha…_

“Kenzi.”

The way he says her name (it is her name, now) makes her shiver. He pulls away and cups her face in his hands. She waits for “this was a mistake” or “you know I can’t do this with a puny human” but it doesn’t come. Instead, he traces her lower lip with a fingertip and she struggles not to start ripping his clothes straight off his body.

“What’s happening, Dyson?” She leans her cheek into his hand. “Please don’t tell me that you got attacked by a lust fae earlier.”

He laughs delightedly, and she can’t help but join him. She feels light inside, like a person without secrets must feel.

И бойцу на дальнем пограничье (fly over the river and in the sunlight go)

“We’re not going to do this now. And for god’s sake, we’re not doing it where Trick might walk in,” he tells her.

She takes a half step forward, bringing their bodies flush again. His eyes actually get darker. Maybe humans can have powers after all. “Does that mean we’re doing it later?” Papa always said she was too bold, but Dyson doesn’t seem to mind.

“Kenzi,” he says again, his voice a rumbling caress. “You can count on it.”

And then he’s gone, and she’s standing in Trick’s office looking dazed and feeling extremely naughty, as though she’d done more than just kiss and grope an extremely handsome wolf shifter that she had put so firmly in the _friend_ category that she still can’t quite believe what just happened.

Papa would not approve.

_Katyusha…_

“Kenzi,” she whispers fiercely. She is not a scared little girl anymore. She will take whatever happiness she can and hold on to it with everything she’s got. She may be only human, but she would not be a fool any longer. Later, she will go to Dyson’s apartment and see whether he’s a man of his word.

For her part, there will be no more hiding.  

**Author's Note:**

> The song that runs through this story, "Katyusha", is a Russian wartime song about a girl pining for her beloved, who is away on the front in World War II. The Russian words sprinkled throughout are one thousand percent a result of Google Translate, and I apologize to Russian speakers (if any ever read this story) if I butchered them.


End file.
